


Thimblerig

by SoleminiSanction



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics), Detective Comics (Comics), Superman (Comics)
Genre: (at least at first), Alaska, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Case Fic, Gen, Isolated Communities, Mystery, NOTHING IS AS IT SEEMS, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plot Twists, This is a weird one folks, Weird Plot Shit, and not everything is explained right away but trust me it'll be a fun ride
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:33:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23791633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoleminiSanction/pseuds/SoleminiSanction
Summary: Robin and Superboy chase a meta-powered serial killer to an isolated Alaskan village and find way more than they were expecting.
Relationships: Chris Kent & Damian Wayne, Chris Kent & Jonathan Samuel Kent, Chris Kent & Jonathan Samuel Kent & Damian Wayne, Jonathan Samuel Kent & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Chris Kent, Tim Drake & Chris Kent & Helena Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	Thimblerig

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically based on SuperSons and the very early storylines of Rebirth, but almost immediately spins off into its own thing. Explanations WILL come, promise, it's just going to take a chapter or two. Sorry if that's confusing, I promise it'll be worth it.

Far below, the rolling Alaskan taiga stretched from horizon to horizon, all snow-covered earth and thin evergreens as far as the eye could see.

Damian scowled down at it all through the tiny porthole window of their plane. The shabby single-engine Cessna was hardly up to his usual standards; it reeked of exhaust and lurched with every passing breeze, the cracked leather of its ancient seats spilling stuffing and sawdust onto an unfinished floor. But it was also, unfortunately, the only civilian travel option available in mid-winter. Their target would surely flee at the first whiff of masked heroes, disappearing into the endless wastes at the top of the world; thus, they were left with no other choice. 

“Woah,” breathed Jon Kent, peering over and around Damian’s shoulder. His ear brushed Damian’s cheek, earning him a glare that the half-Kryptonian ignored with the ease of their long friendship. “It’s so…empty.” 

Their pilot, the only other person in the plane, chuckled from the next seat up. He was an older man built for the climate, with a solid, stocky frame wrapped in a thick layer of muscle and fat. He kept his gaze on the seemingly endless blue skies, for which Damian was secretly grateful; on the ground, his ice-blue gaze had seemed too sharp, laced with suspicion as though all their secrets were laid bare.

“Aye lad. Nothing out here but open bush and the white silence.” He glanced briefly at the windshield’s upper corner, where a curved mirror let him peer back at his passengers. He narrowed those sharp eyes. “You boys been up here before?”

“No,” said Damian, shrugging Jon’s head off his shoulder. The pilot showed no sign of surprise. He’d likely pegged them as tourists from the second they met. That was the sort of thing isolated locals did, after all. At least this one had the good sense to keep his unwanted judgments to himself. 

Shortly, the Cessna began to descend. It passed from the heavens down towards a tiny cluster of dark shapes gathered in a clearing, which eventually resolved into a few dozen small buildings of metal and wood. Damian searched for a runway, and he continued to search right up until the heavy “tundra” landing tires slammed into thick-packed snow and rattled them all to a stop. 

They pulled up alongside a tiny, unmanned shack with a radio dish on its roof, an orange windsock on its flagpole, and an ancient thermometer-clock-message-board combo posted beside its screen door. It currently read: 2 p.m., -20° Fahrenheit, Sunset at 2:53. 

The boys bundled up before following their pilot out the plane’s only door. Jon remembered to let himself drop to the ground rather than float. At sixteen, he’d shot up twice in the last year and stood a full head taller than Damian, still long and lanky with a mop of flyaway hair that got tangled around his ears and eyes. Damian, meanwhile, had first grown broad, particularly across the shoulders like his father, but he was certain that he’d catch up to his old partner within a few years. He had to. 

Still, all his bulk and training couldn’t prepare him for the sheer, bitter, unforgiving cold that struck his face from the moment he stepped outside. He shivered, pulled his hat down over his ears, secured his mirror sunglasses and glared at the scattered buildings that were, supposedly, the village of Selezen, Alaska. He could see about half the buildings with a turn of his head, and every single one of them — save for the makeshift airport and a tiny post office — looked like a run-down family home.

He frowned. 

“We’ll wait to unload your supplies, o’ course,” said the pilot as he secured his tires with a length of heavy chain. “No reason to drag it into the cold ‘til your kinfolk get here.” 

“Uh,” said Jon, and looked to Damian with bewilderment. Damian could only glare back, thick brows knitting under his cap. 

They were on Titans business, hunting a serial murderer. Wayne Enterprises had no holdings up here. Hell, the closet Justice League resource was the Fortress of Solitude. No one was stationed here. No one had been told they were coming. So who…

“Speak of the devil,” said the pilot, eyes locked on the tree-line to the north. Damian followed his gaze, but couldn’t quite register what he was seeing until he heard the barking. 

An honest-to-god dog sled burst from the woods with all the speed that seven trained huskies could muster. Academically, Damian had always known that some northern people, indigenous or otherwise, still used the sleds for both sport and day-to-day life, but seeing one in action brought the whole notion into sharp focus and made it startlingly real. 

The driver…no, that was the wrong term. He clearly had no way to steer. The musher was a young man, both broad and tall, wearing a thick coat that nonetheless struck Damian as light for such bitter cold. He shouted a hail to the pilot, followed by a short word that Damian didn’t know, but was clearly an order for the dogs. The team pulled up alongside the plane as their master dragged the sled to a stop with a metal lever around his feet. He hopped off, gave half the dogs cheery pats he strode past, and tossed back his hood to reveal brown hair, blue eyes, and a bright, wind-swept smile. 

“Hey, Mr. Mann! Any trouble gettin’ in?” 

“Nah,” said the pilot, collecting a clipboard from the plane’s dash as he came around to meet the newcomer. “Smooth skies and clear sailing. Here you go, Chris. Sign the page and we’ll get you loaded up with yer gear, yer groceries and all yer kin.”

“My what?” The musher craned his head to notice Jon and Damian for what was apparently the first time. His eyes widened. Now that they were close, Damian could tell that he was around their age — sixteen or seventeen, give or take a year. 

“It’s what the papers say.” The pilot tapped his clipboard, once more narrowing that suspicious gaze at his two passengers. “At least, I assume they’re yours. You know I wouldn’t book tourists at this time of year, not unless they had a place set up to bunk down. And if they don’t…”

Damian bristled. Jon went perfectly still. They glanced at each other, and were just about ready to distract the locals and escape with their gear when the musher — “Chris” — suddenly burst into a laugh. 

“Well I’ll be damned! Cousin Jonathan!” 

He strode across the short distance and clasped Jon in a hug that made Superboy give a childish squeak. Luckily, he’d gained enough control of his powers over the years to not start flying or break the human’s bones with his startle reaction. For his part, “Chris” beamed like he couldn’t imagine anything being wrong. 

“What a surprise! It’s been so long, I barely recognized you.” He stepped his hug back into a shoulder clasp, giving Jon a lop-sided grin. They weren’t quite the same height — Jon was taller by about half a head — but it was close enough to not be awkward. “You’ve filled out, man. Looking good.”

“Uh, oh! Yeah. Thanks, ah…cousin,” fumbled Jon, awkwardly patting the stranger’s back. “Good to see you too. Um. Surprise?”

“You got that right. You should’ve called first, man, so we knew to pick you up.”

The pilot’s expression relaxed from suspicious to tolerably annoyed. Tension drained from Damian’s body, only to be replaced by wary confusion as Chris turned that million-watt smile his way. 

“And you must be the boyfriend!”

Damian’s sputtered reaction slowed him enough to be caught in a hug of his own. Whoever this “Chris” was, he was surprisingly strong, pinning Damian’s arms like a vice and lifting his feet a good inch off the ground. 

“It’s about time! Let me tell you, Jonny boy never shuts up about you, when he bothers to call. Nice to finally have a face to go with the legend.” He released Damian with a final hearty thump on the back and gave the pilot a thumbs up. “Thanks for getting them here safe, Mr. Mann. We’ll load their luggage with our orders and be out of your hair.”

“Sure your dogs can handle that?” asked the pilot even as he turned over the clipboard to be signed. 

“Sure. Jon and I’ll run alongside.”

Jon stuttered again, sounding just as off-kilter as Damian felt. “Uh, yeah. Sure. I can do that. No problem.”

Damian half-wanted to object, but he fought that suspicion down. Sometimes, as Grayson had taught him, it was better to let go of control and flow with the chaos to see where it led. 

Working together, the three teens easily loaded the sled with the chest-sized crate of Robin’s gear — including a disassembled snow mobile — and two smaller boxes bearing the logo of a supply store from Fairbanks, where they’d boarded the plane. Chris then insisted that Damian sit in the sled, in front of the boxes, and barely waited for him to settle before barking, “Hike!” 

The dogs lurched forward, forcing Damian to grab the sled’s edges or risk being thrown out. Christ fell into quick step alongside them and Jon, with a yelp of surprise, hurried to keep up. 

* * *

They were a good 10 minutes out, the airfield long vanished into the trees, when Chris briefly hopped onto the sled’s back runners long enough to press the gleaming metal lever that was his brakes. The dogs slowed from a full gallop to a more easy trot, which he and Jon could keep up with at a jog. Jon, of course, was unaffected by the sprint; but surprisingly Chris was also barely flushed. As he glanced their way, his grin gradually slipped into a more malicious smirk. 

“You two owe me big time.”

Damian bristled. “Excuse me?” 

“I just saved your butts from freezing off in the Mann’s barn tonight before getting kicked back to Fairbanks first thing in the morning. If he didn’t report you as poachers.” He laughed with an evil tinge, like a super-villain in the making. “Did you two seriously come all the way out here, to the Great Alaskan Fuck-All, in the middle of winter, with no plan for where you were gonna stay?”

“We just figured we’d get a hotel,” said Jon sheepishly. He seemed to be concentrating very hard on not tripping over his own feet. 

Chris threw his head back with a laugh. “A hotel? Out here?” 

Damian scowled. “Clearly, we made some incorrect assumptions about the extent of civilization here.”

“Clearly,” drawled Chris. Damian decided that he did not care for this stranger. They’d known each other barely half an hour, and already he was taking some twisted delight in their situation. “You’re just lucky I was here. If there hadn’t been a Kent in town, Mr. Mann wouldn’t have brought you at all, and you’d be shit up a creak until spring.”

“Wait,” said Jon. “Your name’s really…?”

“Christopher Kent, yeah. Nice to meet’cha.” Chris stuck his hand out over the two lines of running dogs. After a blink, Jon accepted the handshake. “Saw your name on the passenger manifest. Made it easy to make things up.” 

“Wow!” Jon gave a wide grin. Even after all these years, he still couldn’t stop his face from lighting up like the noonday sun. “That’s so cool. Hey, you think we’re really related?” 

Something flickered across Christopher’s face, so quick and brief that anyone not trained by Batman might have missed it. But Damian, intent on watching the stranger’s every move, read loud and clear: it was a flash of dark thought, of anger and disgust and something like hatred all rolled into one. 

But it passed as quick as it came, and the smirk returned as he drew back his hand. “Maybe,” he said, and bent over briefly to untangle a twisted harness. When he glanced back, the cheer had returned. “So! What brings you cheechakos all the way out here, besides boneheaded stupidity and/or a subconscious death wish?”

“It’s none of your business,” Damian snapped. 

“Well excuse me. But given that you’ll be bunking down tonight in my house, on my property, with my big brother and my sweet, innocent baby sister, I think I deserve to know what you’re up to.” 

“We never agreed to that!” Damian sat straight up, only to be reminded that he was on a sled by the way it lurched beneath him. One of the rear dogs gave a low whine, and he froze on the spot to minimize its strain.

“S’okay, girl,” her owner soothed. Damian glared at him. 

“We can get by on our own. Let us part ways here, and we’ll make camp on our own time.”

“How ‘bout no.” Christopher scowled. “The last thing this village needs is the media circus that’ll erupt from Wayne Enterprise’s precious blood-heir freezing to death in our woods.”

Damian willed his face to remain blank and match glare for glare. “I don’t know what you’re on about.”

“Stuff it. It’s the 21st century. Even we have the Internet.” Christopher stuck out his tongue with a puff of warm air, some of which froze and scattered to the ground as minuscule crystals. “There’s like a thousand paparazzi photos of you in those exact same sunglasses. So spill.” 

“We’re on assignment,” blurted Jon, with that anxious speed he always stumbled into trying to head off Damian’s temper. “For school.” 

Damian growled at him. Christopher gave them both a deadpan stare. “Try again.” 

Damian crossed his arms with a huff, already conjuring up a convincing alternative. “We are on assignment. Special assignment, for a joint task force between Gotham and Metropolis P.D.s.” 

He set jaw as Christopher stared, a single raised eyebrow daring the stranger to call his bluff. 

“…Okay. Let’s say I believe you. What assignment is so important that not one, but two of the country’s biggest municipal law agencies would foot the bill to mail a pair of teenagers — including a minor celebrity — to the middle of fucking nowhere, but not important enough for them to, I don’t know, alert the Justice League?”

“Justice League intervention is reserved for matters of national, international or global importance only.” The words came easy after years of watching the League turn away demanding officials. “This case does not require their resources.”

Christopher snorted again. “Sure. So what is it?”

“Classified.” 

The word was barely spoken before Christoper leapt up onto the sled, his boots landing on either side of Damian’s knees. He pressed right into Damian’s personal space and loomed like he’d been trained by the Bat. 

“Listen, Princess. I get that you’re used to controlling things, including the flow of information. But if there’s one thing you should have figured out by now, it’s that you have no idea how things work up here. Whoever or whatever you’re chasing, they will slip away while you’re getting your shit together, and it’ll be _my_ town, potentially my _family_ that suffers for it. You need somebody who knows the lay of the land. So how ‘bout you can it with the prissy little snob routine and let me in on the fucking game already?”

“Okay, okay!” Jon lurched closer to catch Christopher’s shoulder for a few awkward seconds before the dogs pulled ahead of his jog. It was enough to make the local yank back and roll off the sled as though on instinct, but even as he caught himself with one arm and flipped back to his feet, his absence left Damian frozen. 

There was something off about Christopher, something that set his nerves on high alert, yet he couldn’t quite put his finger on what. As close and jarring as he’d been, his presence on the sled seemed, somehow, too small. The dogs hadn’t slowed or stumbled at all. And had that been a spark in his pupils’ depths, or was it nothing more than a glare from the setting sun?

“It’s a serial killer,” he heard Jon say as his heart rate calmed. “Confirmed meta, nicknamed ‘the Werewolf of Baltimore” before he started tearing his way up the east coast. He’s torn over a hundred people apart in the last two years alone.” 

“And now he’s made a run for the end of the road.” Christopher nodded, his expression now contemplative. “Hardly the first to try it. Think he’s in the woods?”

“Probably yeah.”

“Then you’ll want to talk to my brother. He does nature photography, knows the bush by heart. Plus, he owns the house, so you’ll need his permission to sleep on the couch.”

Damian shook off his nerves. “We do not need—”

“Dami.” 

Jon was doing that thing again, the goddamn puppy dog eyes. Damian would forever loathe whomever taught him to weaponize those.

“He’s right. We could use the help, and I don’t want anyone else getting hurt because we were too stubborn. I know you don’t either. So let’s hear them out, okay?”

Damian huffed, even as his pride leaked off like an open balloon. “That is…acceptable, I suppose.”

“Aw.” Christopher snickered. “You guys are cute.”

“Silence, you!”

Their host laughed, falling back as the sled rounded a trail bend and came without sight of what had to be his home. It was nicer than Damian had expected from his brief look at Selezen. For one, it stood a full story-and-a-half tall, with the roof descending into a steep slope at the back that cut off what would have otherwise been a full second floor. The walls were wood, but professionally paneled as opposed to hewn logs, and the windows — though mismatched — were modern, wide, and very clean. Out front stood a porch that rose a safe few inches above the snowline, and in the space to the right stood a half-dozen insulated boxes full of blankets and straw; one for every dog. 

Christopher called out the command to stop, hopping onto the break again to ease the sled down with the dogs’ pace. They pulled up alongside the house, and he jumped off again to catch up with his lead, catching Jon on the way and dragging him by the arm. 

“I’ll check in with my brother, you two get my dogs loose. It’s this strap, and this one here, leave the harness on the line. Give ‘em a good scratch and a pat on the butt; they know which box is theirs. Got it?”

“Ah, yeah I thi—”

But Chris was bounding up the porch stairs before Jon could finish his sentence. 

Damian stood shakily, not liking how his balance was so easily disturbed by the sudden shift from movement to solid ground. He did a few squat-stretches to get the feeling back and — because the dogs all looked very fluffy and there were some childish impulses he had yet to grow out of — set about working his way down the trio on one side. Jon grinned at him over the animals’ heads. 

“Shut up Kent,” Damian grumbled, and buried his hands in the thick fur. 

* * *

The un-harnessing went quick but stalled out at the end when one of the younger dogs — a smaller female colored like a toasted marshmallow — clambered into Damian’s lap and refused to move. In her defense, Damian made no attempt to dislodge or discourage her. 

“She has owners,” reminded Jon with a teasing smirk. “You can’t take her home.”

Fingers deep in the warm fur, Damian glared. “I have no such intention.”

“Uh-huh. Just like that tiger you stole when we were fourteen.”

“That was a rescue, he wasn’t—!”

He cut himself off as the smirk suddenly slipped from Jon’s face. The half-Kryptonian lifted his head, gaze darting to the nearby trees.

Damian tensed. “What is it?”

“I don’t know. I heard something, but…” Jon narrowed his eyes, pupils blowing wide as his vision shifted beyond human kin. “There’s someone—”

A snowball to the face shut him right up. Jon sputtered, spitting out chunks of ice as a second ball likewise clocked Damian upside the head. A high, feminine giggle taunted them from the trees. 

Damian dislodged the dog and rolled into a crouch, even as Jon called, “Hey!” and darted into the trees, faster than humans were supposed move. By the time Damian had a bat-a-rang in hand, the giggles had been replaced by a surprised shriek. Jon stood at the tree-line roughly fifty feet away, looking almost more surprised than the small girl he had scruffed by the back of her parka. 

And she was small. Little, even. Her many layers of snow gear could mask her body type but not her age, which couldn’t be more than seven. Her pale face was still soft with baby-fat and her hair spilled from under her hood in a silky black wave. 

She struggled, kicking at the air behind her in a futile attempt to hit Jon’s torso. Her high, frustrated whine reminded Damian of the many feral kittens he’d had to handle the same way for fear of losing a finger. “No fair! You cheated!” 

It seemed only then that Jon realized what powers he’d used without thinking. His cheeks flushed pink as he pulled in his gut to avoid another kick. “Cheated? No, I…I mean, that isn’t.”

The girl stopped struggling, hung limp in his hold, and took a few rapid deep breaths before bellowing, “CHRIIIIS!” 

With a metallic squeal, a window on the cabin’s second floor swung open. Chris’s head shot through the frame, on high alert, only to relax when his eye fell on Jon and the pouting child.

“Well, shit…” he chuckled, leaning his elbows on the sill. “Helena, were you lying in wait again? You know it never works.”

“It would’ve this time!” The little girl huffed, producing a cloud of white breath, and crossed arms made pudgy and stiff by the thick coat.

Jon hesitantly eased her closer and hooked an arm under her legs for support before turning his face window-wards. “Let me guess: this is your…”

“Sister, yeah. One sec.”

He retreated into the house, but his hands remained on the sill, soon to be joined by a foot. Damian barely registered what was about to happen before Christopher hauled himself up, swung through the window, and dropped like a stone. 

Damian’s heart stuttered. Sure, he could have made that drop just fine, as could the rest of his family and, obviously, all of Jon’s. But they were trained (or Kryptonian), Christopher was a civilian and civilians tended to shatter their bones falling such distances. And the fool didn’t even roll when he landed, just disappeared in a cloud of snow and packed ice. 

And yet, without so much as a whimper of pain, he popped right back up and jogged to Jon and Helena. 

“Give her here,” he said, holding out his arms. Jon obediently passed her over and Chris balanced her against his hip like she weight nothing. His fond expression so much resembled Richard’s that it almost made Damian homesick. “You know,” he said to the girl, “one of these days you’re gonna disappear in those woods and I’m the one who’ll be in trouble.”

“No you won’t.” Helena stuck out her tongue. “Because I won’t, duh. You didn’t say you were bringing friends home.”

“They’re not friends.”

For some reason, that muttering sent a defensive static down Damian’s spine. They weren’t friends. They were barely even acquaintances, and this Kent was obnoxious in ways he hadn’t thought possible. Still, there was something in the tone that put him on edge. A darkness, a resentment. Almost an anger.

None of which carried to the pale eyes as Christopher glanced his way, shrugged with his armful of child, and turned his steps for the front door. “C’mon in you two. My brother’ll be down in a bit.”


End file.
